The Target

by L. J. Sellers

  Dallas sprinted toward her car, glancing to the right as she ran. A paramedic was climbing into the driver’s seat of an ambulance. Nearby, Decker shoved Brickman toward the vehicle. The big man went along, probably terrified of the syringe. Or maybe Decker had already drugged him with it. The crazy woman shouted something at her captive, and he opened the back of the ambulance and climbed in. Decker followed, slamming the door closed.

  Dallas finally reached her car. She fired up the engine, grabbed her weapon out of its holster, and called River. As the phone rang, she put in her earpiece and looked over at the clinic. The ambulance was rolling toward the street.

  Chapter 41

  Cheryl’s heart had been thundering like a freight train, but as soon as the ambulance rolled forward, she felt calm. At least she would get some answers before the FBI arrested her. And if she were smart—‌and caught a break—‌she might make it to Saul’s house where she could pick up necessities, then cross the border into Mexico. Saul would send a guide with her, and she would be safe. From there, she could continue south until she reached Costa Rica, where the Slimbiotic trials had been conducted. Cheryl knew doctors who would give her access to labs and help her continue her research. She had ten grand in her purse and could buy another ID, plus she had an offshore bank account the feds wouldn’t be able to find or freeze. Giving Amber unapproved medications was illegal, and she’d been doing it for years. So she’d prepared long ago to be ready to flee to a less-restrictive country. Marta could take Amber to Saul’s, and he’d eventually help them reconnect.

  “What do you want, Cheryl?” Brickman kept his voice even, as if dealing with a crazy person. “Continuing this is insane.” He had sat on the floor, wedged between a gurney and a stainless steel medical cabinet.

  She moved past him and tapped the plexi-glass between her and the driver. The man glanced over his shoulder, his expression surprisingly calm. “Head south toward Ocean View Hills,” Decker directed. “Stay off the main roads. No sirens, no radio. Just keep making turns and drive fast. This bastard’s life is in your hands.”

  The paramedic lurched the ambulance into traffic, forcing drivers to brake. He gunned the gas and sped toward Palomar Street.

  Cheryl turned back to her captive. “What did you do to my father? You bastard!”

  “Come on, I had nothing to do with that. The police are just making wild accusations.” Brickman gave her his best you-know-me look.

  She did know him. He had the same driving ambition she did, only he was capable of hurting people on purpose. Cheryl inched toward him, checking his hands to ensure that his wrists were still tied. The scarf wasn’t ideal, but it would hold long enough.

  “You’re a lying pile of shit.” She still couldn’t believe her father was dead. Even though she’d been mad at him, she still loved him. And she’d been hurt when he’d finally given up contacting her. Apparently, he’d cut her out of his will too. Otherwise, his lawyer would have contacted her.

  Brickman was still unresponsive, so she prodded. “Did you go to James for campaign money?”

  No response.

  “Did he threaten to sell his shares in ProtoCell and plunge the stock price? What happened?”

  “You’re wrong. And this is only making it worse.”

  Cheryl stabbed the tip of the syringe into his arm, just above the elbow, and gave a tiny push.

  Brickman let out a squawk.

  “It’s a MRSA-related bacteria, in case you’re wondering.” Cheryl gave him a wicked smile. “An accidental byproduct.” He’d been dying to know what new research she’d pursued all these years, and now he would find out just as it invaded his body. “That dose probably won’t kill you if you take antibiotics in the next hour, but if I hit you with the whole syringe, you’re a goner no matter what. Septic shock is what they’ll write on your chart.” She laughed. It felt so good to hurt him back.

  “You’re bluffing.” His natural pink cheeks lost their glow.

  “You know me better than that. Tell me what happened to my father!” She glanced over her shoulder at the driver. He had his eyes on the road and didn’t seem to be doing anything but driving. The next turn was only a half-mile away. But the cops had to be looking for the ambulance by now.

  Brickman swallowed hard. “Your father snuck into the R&D building, and I caught him. His death was an accident.”

  What? That made no sense. She would have given anything to know what the media had reported, but she knew Brickman was lying. “That’s not what the police think. He’s my father. I deserve to know the truth.” She decided to play on his natural cockiness. “The FBI are probably following us, and I’m not likely to survive this day. It can’t hurt you to tell me. Why was James at ProtoCell?”

  A smile played on the bastard’s rubbery lips. “He came to steal the SlimPro. It took me a while to get that information out of him.”

  She still didn’t understand. “But why?”

  “The idiot was trying to win you back. He had an appointment at our affiliated lab and saw a chance to get into our facility. So he took it.”

  James had wanted her forgiveness? Had her father tried to steal a cure for Amber?

  Brickman’s eyes narrowed. “It was such a bizarre thing to find him there. And I was having a really bad day. You can blame yourself for that.”

  She knew he meant her sabotage campaign, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “So you killed him? To get back at me?”

  “I wanted to send you a message. To get you to back off. There’s room in the market for both our products.” Brickman shook his head in disbelief. “But you don’t watch the damn news, so you didn’t hear about his death.” Another half smile. “His new wife must really hate you. No surprise.”

  Rage engulfed her. “You’re a sick bastard.” She held up the syringe. “You won’t be around to see the disaster, so I’ll tell you a little more about this bacteria.” She leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. “I infected your product line. Every SlimPro on the delivery trucks is contaminated. Every patient who gets an implant this week will develop a fever and pain in the incision. Their devices will be removed, and their doctors will file Adverse Reaction Reports with the FDA. Your company will voluntarily pull it from the market until it’s been investigated. And my product will launch in the mean time.”

  Cheryl laughed again, a full bitter outpouring. “These things will happen whether you and I are here or not.” She had started to doubt her ability to survive this incident. Poor Amber. But her daughter could live with Saul and be homeschooled. The girl might even be happier.

  Brickman’s jaw trembled and his eyes jumped with panic. “You selfish bitch! When did you get so greedy?”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “It’s not about the money. Not directly.”

  “Why then? Revenge? Because I didn’t love you? Because I continued the product development without you?”

  Cheryl decided to tell him the truth before she killed him. “Not just revenge. I did it for Amber. Our daughter. She has Prader-Willi Syndrome, and I need the money to continue the research. In case neither of my products works this round.”

  She readied the syringe and plunged a large dose into his arm.

  Chapter 42

  The ambulance blew through the intersection, and Dallas tried to follow. An SUV making a right turn cut in front. She laid on her horn, cursing the idiot driver. Behind her, an engine roared. She looked in the rearview mirror and spotted a dark blue sedan. The guy in the suit had been a cop. Great news. He’d likely called for reinforcement. But what was protocol in this situation? A civilian’s life was in jeopardy if they moved too aggressively. Dallas tried to put herself inside Decker’s head. What did she want with Brickman? Revenge for his old betrayal? Decker had already tried to ruin his company, so maybe she simply wanted to kill him and had taken him hostage to buy herself time. Decker seemed smart enough to realize she had to ditch the ambulance.

  Ahead, the vehicle turned right and Dallas spot
ted a sign for the 805 freeway. Was Decker making a run for the border? That would be stupid. Even an ambulance would have to stop and deal with customs. With her earpiece in, Dallas pressed re-dial. River finally picked up. “What’s the report from the clinic?”

  “Decker took Jonas Brickman hostage, and they’re in an ambulance heading south on Picador. I’m about four blocks behind.”

  “Good glory. Do you have backup?”

  “Some guy in a dark sedan is behind me. I think he’s with the PD.” Dallas swerved around a slow-moving mini-van. She’d taken high-speed driver training, but dealing with real traffic was far more challenging. “Decker threatened to kill Brickman if anyone called the cops, but someone probably did anyway.”

  “What kind of weapon does she have?”

  “A small handgun and a syringe that she says is deadly.”

  River drew in a sharp breath. “It’s bacteria. Maybe she killed Palmer with it too.”

  “I think Decker snapped and is unpredictable, but instinct tells me she’ll kill Brickman, then take off on foot. Any idea where she’ll go?” River knew the San Diego area and would have a better guess.

  “The border isn’t far, but that area is open with nowhere to hide.”

  “Decker is smart, so she might grab another vehicle and go in another direction.”

  “Don’t let her out of your sight. We can’t let her drop that syringe into a food or water supply. I’m hanging up now to make some calls.”

  Cars kept pulling off the road for the ambulance, then darting back into traffic in front of her rental, creating more distance between her and Decker. Up ahead, she caught sight of the ambulance as it took another left turn. Dallas honked at the car in front of her, hoping it would let her around. The driver flipped her off and slowed down. Prick. A glance in the rearview mirror told her the cop was still behind her. She was curious about his presence at the clinic, but couldn’t focus on it.

  After she was able to make the next turn, she spotted the ambulance parked on a side street. The driver was still in the cab, and the back doors were open. Decker was not in sight. The crazy woman was either still inside with Brickman or she’d fled on foot. Damn, damn, damn.

  The traffic in front of her came to a dead stop. What the hell? Dallas kept her eyes on the ambulance. Half a block from it, a figure in black disappeared into an alley. Yanking the wheel left, she careened into the corner parking lot and cut across, honking at pedestrians who lumbered into her path. At the perimeter, she slammed the car into park and scurried out. First, she had to check on Brickman. When she approached, the paramedic in the driver’s seat gave her an OK gesture through the window. Brakes screeched, and to her right, the dark sedan went over the curb and blocked the street in front of the ambulance. Dallas ran for the back of the vehicle.

  Brickman sat on the floor, his hands still tied. Alive, but breathing hard, as if his oxygen had been cut off for a while. “I need to go to the hospital,” he gasped. “For intravenous antibiotics.”

  River had been right. But at least Brickman still had a chance and didn’t have a bullet in the head. “Where did Decker go?”

  With bound hands, Brickman pointed across the street, where Dallas had seen the person run into the alley. She sensed someone behind her and spun around. The guy in the suit.

  “Detective Cortez,” he shouted. “I need to arrest Jonas Brickman for murder.”

  What? “He needs antibiotics or he’ll probably die.” She started to run toward the alley.

  “Wait,” Brickman called. “You have to stop the SlimPro deliveries.” He gulped for air. “The bitch infected the product run. Our customers will get sick.”

  Dallas nodded at Cortez. “Call the FBI. Tell Agent Carla River. I have to go after Decker.” She bolted for the alley, ignoring the car coming up the street. It honked but braked. She sprinted down the concrete strip between the back walls of the shops, but didn’t see anyone. Had Decker ducked into a store the way the unsub had the night before? The back doors were all closed, and Dallas figured that Decker had kept moving. The woman had to be looking for transportation. A car to steal. Or a bus to jump on.

  The alley opened into another street, then continued on the next block. Dallas slowed and scanned in both directions. A group of teenage girls took up the sidewalk nearby, talking animatedly.

  “Hey,” she shouted. “Have you seen a woman in a black dress?”

  They ignored her. A moment later, she realized they were speaking Spanish. She repeated her question in their language. Two of the girls turned, startled.

  Dallas dropped her gun to her side.

  One scowled. “Tomó mi coche. Quiso comprarlo, luego señaló un arma.”

  Decker had stolen a car from her. “What color? What make?”

  The young girl pointed up the one-way street. “Toyota plata.”

  The most common car on the road. “Gracias.”

  Dallas ran in the direction of the traffic and tried to guess what Decker would do. She needed a main artery to get out of town. That meant circling the block and heading back to the street they’d been on before. Dallas spun around and charged down the alley on the next block. With any luck, she’d hit the street before Decker drove by. Her earpiece was still in and her phone was in her pocket. She tried to call River using voice commands, but she was breathing too hard.

  Bursting out of the alley, she spotted the silver Toyota coming up the street. Decker was driving, and seemed to have both hands on the wheel. Where was her gun? Dallas raised her weapon and aimed at the vehicle.

  A family with young kids came out of the sporting goods store across the street, and other pedestrians stopped and stared. Afraid of hitting a bystander, Dallas wouldn’t take the shot. What now? The Toyota was about to pass by. On impulse, she charged at the oncoming car. At the last moment, she leapt and threw herself on the hood, landing on her belly. “FBI! Stop the vehicle!”

  Decker’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  Dallas pounded the windshield with the butt of her gun, hoping to rattle Decker enough to make her pull over.

  The engine roared under her belly, and the car sped forward. Gripping a wiper with her free hand, Dallas pounded the windshield again. In the distance, she heard a siren. “FBI! We have you surrounded. Stop the car and get on the ground.”

  Decker hit the brakes. Dallas slid off the hood, scraping her stomach on the way. She landed on her feet and aimed her weapon at the driver. Decker shut off the car, then fumbled with something in her lap. The crazy woman closed her eyes for a moment, then climbed out with her hands up. “Don’t shoot me. I want to see my daughter again.” Her voice held a trembling fatality, a woman resigned to a dead-end future.

  Dallas rounded the car and shouted, “Get on the ground!” She didn’t have handcuffs with her, but backup would arrive any moment.

  Decker sunk to her knees. “I did more good than harm,” she said softly.

  Dallas stepped toward the open door of the car, looking to secure Decker’s gun. It lay on the passenger’s seat. Next to it was an empty syringe. Brickman had been right to call for a trip to the hospital. The siren got louder, then a black-and-white patrol car careered around the corner and stopped. Dallas stepped back, waiting for help.

  She glanced at Decker, wanting to say something, but couldn’t find words. A drop of red on the scientist’s bare white arm caught her eye. Blood. From a pinprick. Decker had injected herself with the bacteria too.

  Chapter 43

  Cortez followed the ambulance carrying Brickman to the Sharp Medical Center. Apparently, his suspect had been infected with deadly bacteria and might die. Cortez didn’t care about the man personally, but he wanted closure for James Avery. He just needed a few minutes with Brickman. Confronted with the fingerprint evidence—‌and his own mortality—‌Brickman might confess. Or at least reveal enough information for Cortez to have a sense of resolution.

  His phone rang, and he pressed his earpiece. The call could be critical to th
is case or to the tainted products on the trucks. “Detective Cortez.”

  “This is Rollin Fisher, attorney for James Avery.” His voice was pleasant, but clipped. “Sorry for the delay in calling. I was out of town with my own family crisis, then had to deal with James’ family when I learned of his death.”

  Finally. “This isn’t a good time to talk, but I’d like to set up a meeting with you.”

  “What is this about?”

  “Avery’s will.” Now that he knew Brickman was the killer, Avery’s estate no longer seemed important. But he still had some unanswered questions, particularly about finances and motive.

  “His death is devastating.” A little catch in the lawyer’s voice. “Especially since James had made an appointment to change his will and testament, then was killed and couldn’t keep it.”

  Was that why he was murdered? “Do you know what change he planned to make?” Cortez saw the ambulance change lanes and followed.

  “James wanted to re-instate his estranged daughter and leave her a reasonable share. He’d cut her out years ago, but that was before I worked with him.”

  Avery had a daughter? “What’s her name? And why didn’t his wife mention her?”

  “Cheryl Decker. She’s president of TecLife.” A pause. “As for Avery’s wife, I don’t know her motive, but my understanding is that she’s not fond of either of James’ children.”

  Was Decker the woman who’d taken Brickman hostage? “Do you know anything about Jonas Brickman?”

  “No. Sorry. Let’s meet Friday at two.”

  Cortez agreed, and they hung up. The mystery daughter only added to his confusion about Brickman’s motives. He hoped the man would live long enough to tell him something.